Skeletons In The Closet
by ScarlettWings
Summary: Noah Argent has always been the oddball in his family. But a hunting trip with his family one night makes it so, so much worse. So he bolts to Beacon Hills to seek his more liberal side of the family. The sarcastic son of the Sheriff was just an added bonus. Unfortunately, Noah's life can't be quiet forever. *Part Supernatural. ONLY the Winchesters are present. *Some swearing
1. Chapter 1

Panic.

PanicpanicpanicPANIC OH MY GOD _PANIC_

He could barely breathe. His throat had gone raw from the choked out sobs that he'd tried to keep in but managed to escape. Pain radiated from a deep wound in his side. He reached up to wipe blood from the corner of his mouth as he struggled to get his footing on the dark forest floor. It was the middle of the night and Noah had absolutely _no _idea where he was. One minute, he was covering his brother Avery's back. The next, he'd woken up disoriented with holes in his side and no idea where he was. But if what he thought had happened had _indeed_, then he _might_ just have a slight issue. So with a deep howling coming from his left and two sets of footsteps running at him from his right, Noah did what any sensible, wounded person would do.

He ran.

Branches slapped and scratched away at Noah's flushed face. He was aware of the giant ruckus he was making as he scrambled to get away, holding his side. Adrenaline poured into his veins, sending his senses into overdrive. Home…home. He needed to get home. His side ached as if the Devil himself had grabbed it and refused to let go.

The howl came again, now from his right, as soon as Noah burst onto the country road behind his house. Was it closer now? He quickly decided he didn't want to stick around to find out.

The white paneling of his house stuck out like a sore thumb, even behind a cluster of trees. Noah breathed a sigh of relief as he raced up the tiny incline. He didn't dare rush through the front door in his current state; his mother would question it, even if she knew he'd been on a hunting trip. So he circled the house until he found the ivy wall beside his bedroom window and began to scale it as carefully as possible, even though he'd virtually forgotten about the pain in his side. As soon as he hit the ground, Noah bolted to his bathroom and threw on the light, and stared at himself in the mirror.

It was as if ice had gripped his heart, rendering him unable to move.

His warm brown hair was streaked with twigs and shot in all different angles. His navy blue shirt hung off his slender, wiry frame in tatters, blotched with blood. As Noah shivered, he realized his leather jacket had disappeared, probably left behind in the forest in the same state as his shirt. But what scared him _the most, _what made the blood in his veins run frigid, were his eyes_. _The same chocolate eyes that his mother told him she loved _every single morning_ before school (and sometimes every afternoon when she could see he'd had a terrible day). They weren't chocolate anymore.

Amber.

His eyes were amber.

And as he lifted his shirt, praying to whatever God was out there that this just couldn't possibly get any worse, he saw it. Or rather, _didn't _see it.

The bite was gone.

Noah's body had gone rigid. His face had gone a ghostly pallor and he grabbed the edge of the sink to be completely certain he wouldn't faint. Trembles wracked his wiry frame as he attempted to put the pieces to his shattered life back together. It chose him. But _why? Why him?_ Why not the nice, perfectly average family down the street with the annoying Jack Russell that keeps the entire street up all hours of the night? But _no_, it chose the boy with the family full of hunters, the head of which severely lacking a fabulous thing called morals. The damn creature might as well have transformed back into a human to sign his death certificate himself, since Noah knew quite well that his father would not hesitate to kill his own son.

His stomach began to death roll like a crocodile. What was a boy of his nature supposed to do? There was no manual on this subject. Unfortunately, he did know one thing—he would need to leave. Most likely for good.

He chucked a black duffle bag on his bed and within minutes it was full. He'd changed his shirt and hung his most valuable possession—his camera—around his neck before slipping a hoodie on. Noah made sure his laptop was stuffed between several articles of clothing and secure before zipping the bag shut and slinging it over his back. He shimmied as quickly as he could down the ivy wall and into the night before a distressed cry made him pause.

"Dad!" Avery. Noah cringed. But where was it coming from? He whipped around blindly before another voice answered back.

"Did you find anything?" His father. "The fucking thing got away, and Noah bolted like the chicken shit he is."

"Dad…" Avery's voice had gone cold out of fear. There was no doubt he had found his jacket, ripped to shreds and dripping with hemoglobin.

They would check the house next. His father would march through the forest, raring to let loose a scathing speech about how _unfit_ he was to be a hunter, but would hold his tongue when he found his son hiding beneath his mother's arm. His other brother, the middle one, Blake, would tease him a little bit for always hiding next to "mama" (he'd never stopped calling her that, even when Avery and Blake had moved onto the standard "mom" and "ma"), but Noah always shook it off. Next to Mama, he'd always felt safe.

He shook the thought loose from his head and began a quick jaunt down the dirt road of his street. Father would probably guess soon.

As he became aware of the camera thumping against his chest with every quick step, he became aware of the tears clouding his eyes. Both only further added weight to the brick sitting atop his heart. Noah spun round right before he left his street and held up his Nikon to snap a photo of his gorgeous old Victorian house. A painful smile spread across his face as he marched on, reminiscing about the nights he'd spent camped out in the wide expanse of gardens on the property, sometimes trained in, sometimes shot photos in. As Noah continued on, he pushed the review button on his camera with a dramatic sigh, but his finger slipped. Instead of seeing his home…well, _old_ home after dark, he was staring at a vaguely familiar pair. A man, taller than the girl affectionately under his arm and pulled to his side, beamed through his grayish brown stubble. The skin around his soft turquoise eyes crinkled, letting Noah know it was a real, _genuine_ smile. The girl under his arm was captured in a giggle, but more likely roaring laughter. At the time, she looked about fifteen, but she was already beautiful with her dark ringlets and heart shaped face.

Noah almost hadn't recognized them through the tears he'd failed to hold back, but he did. Christopher and Allison Argent, his uncle and cousin from further north…Beacon Hills, he remembered. Would they take him in? He certainly thought so. His father spun so many tales about them "harboring the beasts" that maybe, just maybe, they wouldn't mind "harboring" one more.

_I mean,_ he thought, _the worst he can do is kill me too._

* * *

**Poor Noah.  
**


	2. Chapter 2

The stagnant odor of dirt and greenery hung high in the humid air as Noah trekked along, having no idea of where he was going. He had been here a handful of times in his entire life, the most recent being two years ago at Uncle Chris's 40th birthday. Quite frankly, Noah was surprised he had even made it to what he _thought_ was the Argent's neighborhood, as the bus had dropped him off in an unfamiliar part of town. It was pouring rain and he was cold, drenched, and shivering like a scared Chihuahua by the time he turned onto their street. His camera thumped against his frigid body, carefully wrapped in plastic bags. As Noah scanned the street, he swallowed, suddenly realizing a slight issue. Which one was the Argent house? His vision was drastically impaired. Everything short of his immediate left and right was a stormy gray. It was raining much too hard out to see clearly.

He stopped. For the most part, the pounding rain had stifled his new and improved hearing, but this time he caught something. It had come from his right, so Noah swiveled his body that way hopefully and caught sight of a window. Light was pouring out from it into the dreary scene about him. Just as he was about to peer inside, he caught it again. It was a high pitched, infectious laughter, one that had brought two awkward teenagers together as friends more than cousins.

Allison.

A smile broke across Noah's face for the first time since yesterday afternoon. He rushed to drag his bag up the driveway and up the steps, nearly bursting with excitement. But as he lifted his pale, pruny hand to knock at the door, he paused. He hadn't let them know he was coming. No call, e-mail, text message, nothing. What if they didn't have _room_ to begin with? Or worse—what if his father's scathing remarks had been false? He knew Marco Argent was never a big fan of his older brother, but what if he turned out to be just like his dad? What if he saved his little brother the trouble and slaughtered his abomination for a nephew for him?

Noah was so stuck on all of the terrible things that could come of this excursion that his exhausted, panicked brain didn't register the front door pry open.

Christopher Argent was a tall, well built man, his appearance hardly showing his real age. He surpassed Noah by only an inch or two. A handsome man of forty two, he had managed not to change much from the photograph on Noah's camera. His hair hadn't grayed too much more, which surprised Noah with the kind of life his family led. He had smile lines, but creases in his forehead, which to Noah meant he either tried to smile a lot to compensate for high stress or he was borderline _psychotic_. And in this family, it could certainly go either way.

Chris squinted his eyes in confusion as he took in the rather sad sight of his nephew, drenched and trembling. "…Noah?" He blinked. "Why are you here? And where are your parents? Actually, forget it. Come inside and get _dry _before we talk about this." He stood aside, opting to question the boy later.

After the hottest shower of his life, Noah sat at the dining room table. He was nursing a steaming mug of coffee between his hands and refused to look up. He was invested in the rise and disappearance of the steam—or rather, _wanted_ to be—and tugged the blanket over his shoulders tighter around him. At the moment, Noah was wearing a gray shirt with some plaid fuzzy pants that smelled suspiciously like dog.

Christopher sat across from Noah, nursing his own piping hot mug. His eyes bored into his nephew's bowed head for a long while before asking, "Does your father know you're here?"

He shook his head.

"Mother?"

He shook it again.

"Jesus, Noah. Does _anyone_ know you're here?"

"No," he mumbled, finally leaning down to sip at the mug. Folgers. His best friend when he was up late working on the school paper. "I ran away."

If it was possible, his uncle's eyes grew wider. "Not even Avery or Blake know? Marcos and Andrea must be worried sick about you, Noah. I'm assuming you didn't call, didn't leave a note or anyth…" he trailed off. Chris had gone stark white. "Noah…"

"Help me," he whispered feebly. His eyes had turned amber, and his bottom fangs were barely visible but obviously there. "I-I couldn't stay. Uncle Chris, you have to help me. Father would've killed me on the spot… He already hates me." Noah could feel the bile rising in his throat at the mention of him. "Please don't tell him I'm here… Oh God, _please_ _don't kill me, _Uncle Chris." He was on the verge of tears; he couldn't remember ever being this afraid.

"Noah." Chris leaned over to plant a hand on his shoulder. "Stop it with the word salad. I'm not going to call Marcos, and I'm not going to kill you." He held up his hands innocently. "Control yourself. The bite tampers with emotions."

"A bite isn't good for someone prone to anxiety attacks, Uncle Chris." Noah shook his head, lifting the mug to his lips to sip again. The warm fluid calmed him, if only momentarily. "I didn't know what to do. Father would've killed me. I know he would've—"

His uncle sighed. "I was the one that got the morals. Aunt Kate got the crazy. Marcos got the…how shall I phrase this…"

"Ruthless?"

"Unforgiving."

"So careless."

"Not careless. Cold."

"Cold and calculating. Sounds about right."

Christopher smiled at the playful banter. "You have a wonderful mother, you know. Without her, I'm honestly afraid you and your brothers would have come out more like your father."

A pang of homesickness and longing hit Noah right in the heart. "I was always mama's favorite."

"I imagine she must be heartbroken, then. No doubt thinks you must be dead." He saw the tears beginning to well in his nephew's eyes and realized he was terrible at dealing with emotionally volatile teenagers immediately. "Please…please, just…uh, stop? Listen Noah, I'm not calling, I'm not killing you. You have my word. You will be safe here."

"Dad?"

Both boys turned to look at the source of the voice. In the doorway stood a petite girl of seventeen with the same dark ringlets and sweet brown eyes as in the picture on his camera. Those same eyes lit up when they set themselves on her cousin. A smile stretched across her pink lips as she raced across the dining room to hug the damp, lanky boy. "I missed you, Noah!"

He laughed; the first real laugh in a few days. "I missed you too, Allison."

She ruffled his soggy hair lovingly. "What brings you to Beacon Hills?"

"Noah will be staying with us…indefinitely." Chris interjected, sporting a tight lipped smile. "He'll be in the spare across the hall from your's, Allison."

"Well come on up, then!" She grabbed her cousins hand and yanked him up, then made for the stairs. With a grin, Noah toted his blanket and coffee cup behind him. Allison definitely had to be one of his favorite people in the world just because of her attitude. And that was saying something, because he usually hated people.

As they were climbing the stairs, Allison looked down at Noah and said, "I'm sure you already know where your room is. I just needed to get you away from the old man. How about we go for ice cream?" She held up the keys with a chuckle. "My treat. And you can fill me in on anything and I'll fill you in on anything."

He nodded. "Yeah…yeah. That sounds good. I just need pants… I'll meet you downstairs."

As they came to a stand in front of Noah's door, she patted his arm. "You take your time. You look like you had a rough day."

About ten minutes later, the two teens were puttering down the road in Allison's silver Mazda Six. He marveled at how different Beacon Hills was to his old town. It had an air of…almost mystery to it. Maybe a little danger, maybe a little bit rural, but urban at the same time. He couldn't help taking a few pictures on their way into town.

"I'm beginning to think that camera is welded to your body, Noah Argent," Allison grinned. "Have you put it down _once_ since the last time I saw you?"

Noah pretended to think. "Well…I mean, I shower. There isn't exactly anything in there I'd like to photograph." Both teens snorted in laughter. He then went on to ask, "What've you been up to?"

"Just your classic boy troubles, I suppose." She slowed to a stop at a red light. "What else is high school for?"

"Learning?"

"Besides that."

The two broke out in laughter again. Noah smiled softly, lost in thought. "I suppose there isn't, is there?" His skin began to crawl, and a chill went down his spine. Was it cold in here? It felt more like…like he was being watched. In his current situation, that wasn't good.

"Oh my God, not _here_, not _now_…" Allison shrunk down in her seat, trying to continue driving.

"What? _What?" _Noah snapped his head around frantically, panic rising in his chest. Was it his father? No, no, couldn't be. Right? Oh no…No, no, no…

But what _actually_ met his eyes was the sight of two guys perched in a Jeep behind them. Their left blinker was on as well, as if to turn into the ice cream parlor as well.

"I don't feel like dealing with those two right now," she muttered, turning into the parking lot of Half Moon Creamery. "Dash in really fast, Noah. I'll meet you—"

Noah had already bolted.

The same skin crawling, unsettling feeling returned to alight itself upon Noah's shoulders as soon as he got in line. To his right, he noticed two guys, probably the same ones, giving him a rather calculating glare. The first, who seemed a little more hostile than interested, was taller than the other by a mere inch. He had tan skin and dark hair, but Noah wasn't sure it was fully black. His eyes were brown right now, but he had a feeling that they weren't always that color. The second was fixing him with a stare than made him squirm in his skin, but before he could get a good look at him, Allison arrived.

"I'm here. Let's order and sit as far away as possible from those two."

"Are those your "boy troubles"?"

"One of them is. Scott, my ex. The paler one beside him would Stiles, his best friend. They go to our school."

He tested the name on his tongue under his breath, launching himself into deep thought.

It was late. Noah's laptop read 10:37 PM as he clacked away on it, just grateful it had survived the downpour. He'd been busy erasing all traces of social media before a knock on the door frame made him look up.

"Hey." It was Allison, wearing a tank top and some fuzzy white pants with little green frogs all over them.

"Come to say good night?"

"Yeah." She moved over to plunk herself on his desk. "Dad says your start school tomorrow."

"Fun," he replied dryly, shutting the laptop.

"Listen. Is there something I should know? About why you're here?" She fixed him with a searching, unyielding stare.

Noah froze. Should he tell her? "Uh, well…"

"Noah, what is it?"

"Okay, well…" He stood up, beginning to edge her out of the room. "I uh…don'texactlyrunthestraightrace _GOOD NIGHT COUSIN ALLISON!"_ And then he slammed the door in his beloved cousin's face and leaned against it, trying to calm his heart rate. That would just have to suffice for now.


	3. Chapter 3

**I got the idea for this AU on tumblr. I'll put the link at the bottom. Read on.**

At nearly the crack of dawn, Noah had the serious displeasure of being awake. He tossed and turned annoyedly, trying to take back sleep that he deserved for a number of reasons. But that was a war he simply couldn't win. A glance at the clock said 4:52. Another glance at the note Uncle Chris had left under his door read "School starts at eight. Be up by seven." That was two hours of sleep Noah needed, wanted, and deserved, but some god-awful entity was keeping him awake. So for another half hour, he flipped around in his bed, mumbling curses about shitty sleep patterns and inconsiderate family members before he finally decided to get up.

Under the pale morning light, Noah fumbled for his jeans and a pair of Levi's and pulled them on. He padded into the bathroom to brush his teeth quietly. As he brushed, he stared at himself, marveling at how so much had changed in such little time. Even after he finished, he just…stared.

Then, under cover of dawn, Noah slipped out of the house, his camera thudding softly against his chest. Funny how such a simple feeling calmed him… Others hated the feeling of a five pound bundle of hard plastic hitting them in the sternum with each step. But the familiarity of it had taped what little sanity of he had back together. He found solace in his camera because it meant the past—a past where everything was a stark, painful black and white.

Sunrises, the occasional deer, birds and their families… It struck Noah as odd just how connected to nature this town seemed to be. But it was a good kind of odd, and he loved it already. Then again, he had always loved nature. So he took picture after picture as he strolled about for a long while, reveling in how safe he finally felt.

The smell of breakfast foods galore assaulted his nose as soon as Noah stepped through the front door a half hour later. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair and set his keys down.

"Noah?" Chris called.

"Yeah, it's me Uncle Chris." He meandered through the halls until he arrived in the dining room once again.

"Where've you been?" He poked a head out of the kitchen with a raised eyebrow.

"Out. Exploring." He set his Nikon beside what he assumed to be his plate. "Is this for me?"

"Yes. Allison's up there showering, and she should be down in—"

"Now." Allison decided to skip through the doorway at just that moment, smiling. Her hair was a little bit damp, but it was already drying and curling fast. "Eat quick. We need a good parking spot and—Noah?"

"Yes?"

A teasing grin broke across his cousin's face. "Half of that plate is already clean."

Noah glanced down in surprise. "Oh! The damned dog must've gotten it."

"We don't own a dog…"

"Then I suggest you learn to lock your doors." He grinned and bit off a piece of bacon.

Allison rolled her eyes and planted herself right beside him. While she ate, Noah stared aimlessly out the window. How pretty the early morning sky was…

A Jeep drove past.

* * *

"I'm excited to hear that you at _least_ have decent taste in music."

"Oh shut up!"

"Well if I have to hear you playing it at midnight while you claim to study, I should at least like it!" Noah laughed.

"Were you really up that late?" Allison blushed, looking rather embarrassed. She hadn't meant to keep her cousin awake after what looked like a very stressful ordeal on his part.

"Don't blame yourself, okay? I couldn't sleep. I don't have my pillow. And there was just way too much to think about to even think about sleep… My brain was swirling. It was terrible." He ran a hand through his tousled hair and glanced out the window.

"I understand." She made a right turn that put them on a road through the forest.

Noah lifted his camera to take photos of the rows upon rows of golden and orange autumn trees, but he stopped. It felt… It felt as if someone were to tip toe the tips of their fingers down someone else's spine. It was a chilling feeling. Anxiety. Someone was watching him. Again.

"_I know you hear me."_

He swung his head around, searching for the source of the deep, cold voice. Someone else knew. He could hear his heart beat in his ears, racing, struggling to slow itself down. _Panic._ Would he have to leave again? Oh no… His mind was racing a hundred miles a minute. Oh no oh no oh nonono…

"Noah?" Allison's voice snapped him back to reality. "Something wrong?"

"H-huh?" Noah glanced back, then slowly slumped down into his seat. "No, I thought I hear—_saw_ something," he stammered, shutting off his camera. "A coyote maybe." But as he leaned on the windowsill, sweat breaking on his brow, he muttered, "Or maybe a wolf…"

She raised a skeptical eyebrow, but turned into the parking lot of Beacon Hills High School anyway. "At any rate, we're here." The place was overwhelmingly swarming with teenagers, much to Noah's discontent. Some were throwing and kicking around balls, others were talking to friends, and some did all of the above.

Noah had always hated high school. He also despised the feeling of uneasiness that was creeping into his stomach at the moment, but from what, he wasn't sure. "Fabulous," he muttered.

"We need to go to the office to get your schedule, so come on, Mr. Overexcitement." She smirked at Noah and he offered back a sarcastic smile. With her cousin in tow, Allison locked the car doors and set off. Her cousin, however, couldn't help taking just one more picture.

* * *

Scott McCall slipped the green and black helmet off of his head with a frown. He perched upon his matching dirt bike, which stood parked between the twins' bikes and Stiles's Jeep.

"Wonder if she knows," Stiles mumbled to himself.

"I'm not sure she does." Scott turned his keys over and over in his fingers, thinking. He was worried. Both for her and for whoever this kid was.

"I feel sorry for him when the twins get a whiff of him."

"Already did. I told Ethan and Aidan this morning to lay off."

"Do you really think they _will, _Scott?" He chuckled sarcastically. "It's the twins."

"Not at all. It just means he'll only come out with bruises instead of broken bones." Scott stuck his helmet underneath his arm and slipped off his bike as Stiles crawled out of his Jeep. Together, they approached the school.

* * *

"It looks like we've got two classes, and lunch." Allison handed her cousin back his schedule and spun in her locker combination. "If you'd like, we can share my locker since there aren't any available." She was halfway through stuffing things inside when a voice interrupted them.

"You didn't answer any of my texts this morning. I was beginning to think you'd dropped off the face of the Earth—oh, I'm sorry. Am I interrupting something?"

Noah glanced to his left to see where the snooty voice had come from. It belonged to a girl about an inch shorter than Allison, even with her peach colored wedges on. She had a sort of French-braid thing going on for a headband and carried a darker, raspberry colored purse. She wore a polka dotted sundress a lighter pink than the bag. He found himself questioning both whether he should be afraid of this girl and where his sudden extensive knowledge of the color wheel had come from.

Allison glanced up. "Oh, Lydia, hey. Noah, meet Lydia. Lydia, this is my cousin, Noah."

He waved a little, camera shifting at his chest.

"…hm." She swept his body with her eyes before settling on the camera. "Picture boy. May need you some day." She half smiled in a sort of half greeting, but it widened when she felt someone's presence behind her. "You know, Aidan, it's not nice to sneak up on people."

"Yet I continue to do so anyway." The blonde haired boy then turned to scrutinize Noah. "Who's this?"

"Noah. Allison's cousin." She smiled, a little more genuine this time, and Noah felt an unwanted stammering sensation in his throat..

"Noah, huh?" Aidan smiled a little, gifting Noah a front row seat to sharpened fangs and steel blue eyes. "Pleased to meet you."

Shit.

"H-hey, left my phone in the car." He laughed rather nervously and pretended to pat down his pockets for emphasis. "Gonna go get that now… I'll catch up with you guys later?" He turned over his shoulder and grunted a bit when he ran into _someone else._ "I'm sorry—"

"It's no problem," Stiles responded coolly, staring down at Noah, who was staring back at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Just…" He breezed past him, feeling the panic that had begun to rise in his throat diminish significantly.

Allison bit her lip and watched her cousin go with a sigh. "Stiles, how do you feel?" That caused Aidan to snicker, and Allison snapped around to glare at him in response. "What? Don't be rude. He's brand new to this and it only makes sense to ask him how he's feeling."

Scott strolled up at just that moment. "I'm teaching him to control his heartbeat right now."

"I'd say I'm decent at it, but I never realized just how many stupid conversations take place in these very halls." Stiles shifted his backpack onto the other shoulder with an annoyed roll of his eyes.

"Can't turn that part off. But it is possible to try and block it out. Try it. It's good practice." Scott's gaze swept onto Allison. He then pointed over his shoulder. "Do you know the kid who just swept down the hallways looking like he might puke?"

"_Puke? Noah!"_ She bolted down the hall in pursuit of him, worry written across her very prominent cheekbones.

"Her cousin," Lydia informed as she followed her best friend down the hallway at a more leisurely pace.

"The werewolf," Scott finished quietly. "Do me a favor, Aidan. Stop trying to scare him."

He smirked. "Whaaaat?"

"You're an ass."

* * *

Though Noah's stomach was intact, he was hiding at the side of Allison's car. A minor crisis had been avoided so far, but he was still a bit freaked. However, a few moments and an annoyed groan later, he found himself dragging his feet to Chemistry as the bell rang. Noah kept his eyes on his feet as he shuffled into the classroom and took a seat in the back. He found himself silently praying that she wasn't the "stand up and say hello" type.

Oh, but she was.

So naturally, Noah pretended to search under his desk for his "lost item" until (what was her name? Mrs. Aldrin?) gave up.

Regrettably, there weren't enough tables for both Stiles and Scott to sit together at one, so now Stiles was seated next to Noah and Scott at the adjacent table. Mrs. Aldrin came over to explain the lab rules and what the experiment for the day was before leaving them be once again.

But now that he was closer, he could get a proper look at Stiles. He was a bit freckly, with hair that resembled a wave all surfers desperately craved in each of their lifetimes. His eyes were a dark chocolate color, but he could see the amber flecks in them, even from the side. Stiles looked to be the sort of person who progressively grew on you instead of instantly becoming your friend. His eyes swirled with secrets. Or that could quite possibly have been the nosy side of Noah Andrew Argent.

"Hey," Stiles said softly, almost cautiously. "Were you okay earlier? I heard you looked…well, an unnatural color."

Noah swallowed. He'd forgotten he might actually need to talk today. But when he opened his mouth, all that squeaked out was, "Bonjour?" in a perfect French accent.

He smiled a little. Noah noticed the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Smile lines creased his surprisingly clear cheeks; he was a guy who smiled often. "You know French?"

He swallowed, nodding slightly. "I'm probably the only Argent who speaks it near fluently."

"Do you take the class?"

"It's my third year."

"I'm failing. God, please help me."

Noah cracked a smile. "Let's start with chemistry. You've been throwing things in that beaker, but do you know what they were?"

"Not necessarily." He frowned a bit in thought. "Oh well." Stiles swiped up a brown bottle and swished it around, preparing to throw some in to top off his crazy concoction.

Noah's eyes flicked over each empty test tube, adding them together in his head as he went along. A stone dropped in his stomach when he realized what Stiles was about to pour in next. "_NO, STILES, NO!"_

An earsplitting roar tore apart the classroom. Glass shattered all around them. Noah himself was propelled backwards with such force that his back slammed into something hard and unyielding, most likely the back wall. Dust swirled around in the air rather tauntingly as glass particles quietly tinkled to the floor. Teenagers coughed and gagged on the air, and a few cried out weakly. Nothing sounded too bad, he thought. He was actually surprised he had even put that together coherently.

"Scott?" Stiles choked out. "Scott…no, Scott, _please_ wake up!"

Noah could see straight long enough to take in Scott lying awkwardly on the ground. And he looked banged up _bad. _Blood trickled down his forehead and out of the corner of his mouth. He no doubt had a concussion.

He couldn't tell if the ringing was in his ears of if it was the fire alarm. Whichever, it sent Noah cowering into the fetal position in an attempt to protect his already damaged hypersensitive hearing. He heard the teacher evacuate the room, heard her beg for Stiles to leave with them, but he wouldn't. He heard the shifting of a worried teacher crouching beside a petrified best friend, and the last thing Noah saw was the EMTs rush at them before his world fell into black.

**Oh me oh my. That can't be good.**

**Like I promised, here are the links. I am just astounded by the photoshopping skills of some people… Gosh. It's not fair. lol**

** post/76914289909/teen-wolf-au-in-which-andrew-garfield-plays-a**

** post/77225929594/teen-wolf-au-in-which-the-argent-werewolf-gets-a**


	4. Chapter 4

The pain searing through Noah's veins was unreal. He woke up screeching and felt as though every inch of his body had been set ablaze. He had just enough strength to roll over and rip every single IV out of his arms before rolling over and curling up. His head radiated pain he had never once in his life experienced before. Noah thought it would've been like a tsunami crashing against the Great Wall of China. Over, and over, and over again. He even drooled off the bed a little. He was so consumed by the throbbing in his head and the scathing heat that licked all over his body that he hadn't even noticed the hand on his shoulder trying to push him back on his back. Unfortunately, he was far stronger than he was, so Noah found himself painfully sprawled upon his back. The harsh hospital lights did nothing for his pain, so he lifted his hands to shade his eyes. Noah found himself staring into the concerned eyes of Stiles Stilinski, one Band-Aid placed goofily in the middle of his forehead.

"Calm down." With a jolt, Noah realized it hadn't been Stiles who'd spoken.

The lights blinked off, much to his relief. The owner of the voice stepped out of the corner so Noah could get a better look at him. He didn't look too much older than any of them, but he was pale, suggesting he was a man who liked to stay out of sight. He was tall and stocky and had raven hair, which suited his deadpanned expression. The man was clad in dark jeans and a leather jacket as well.

"They'll come running and see how quickly you're healing." The man fixed him with a cold, hard stare. "You're an Argent."

"Yeah…"

He chuckled rather condescendingly. "Must be great being a werewolf in a family full of hunters."

"Who are you, anyway? You're the voice that's been haunting me all day." Noah had just pieced together the similarity of the two voices.

The man paused for a long while, then crossed to Noah's bedside. "Derek."

Stiles nodded slightly. Noah noticed the puffiness in his face; he'd either been banged up just as bad or crying. The latter was more likely. Probably out of guilt, no doubt. The memory slapped him in a heartbeat. "How's Scott? Where is he?"

Silence hung in the air, so thick you could slice it with a butter knife. If it was even possible, Stiles's face grew _more_ solemn. It was then that Noah became aware of another sound in the room; a heart monitor, not unlike his own. It beeped just the same but _not_ the same as well. It was slower, more erratic, more out of step. With a clench of his heart, Noah realized he didn't need to ask, and no one needed to answer. He could hear his answer. It was the slow, erratic heartbeat of a boy fighting for his life.

"Why isn't he healing?" Noah asked softly, trying to learn and be empathetic at the same time.

"Werewolves can't bounce back as easily if they've been injured to a large enough extent," Derek muttered. "He's healing. Faster than a human, but slow for a werewolf."

"He's in a coma," Stiles said bluntly. The anxious boy pulled at his own hair, trying to hold back what Noah could only assume as _more_ tears. "It's all my fault…"

Noah couldn't agree more. But he sat up anyway, wincing, and replied quietly, "It was an accident, okay? Calm down. Scott's gonna be fine. He's healing, and it was an accident. Don't forget it." He swung his feet over the side of the hospital bed, biting his lip in concentration.

"An accident that almost kil—"

"In the meantime," Noah interrupted swiftly, "you might need a chemistry tutor to make sure you know what you're doing next time." His banter was working, if only slightly; his new friend didn't look like he might sprout gray hairs on the spot. "Today must be your lucky day, because I am both bilingual and great at chemistry." He braced himself against the railing and stood on his own.

Just as Noah regained his balance, Chris and Allison burst through the door, followed by an annoyed woman in lilac scrubs and bright white shoes. He recognized her as his nurse, and decided he liked her when she didn't seem at all shocked that he was standing. What _really_ drove a stake through his mood was her shocking resemblance to the boy across the room in a slumber he may never wake up from.

"How is he?" Chris asked, moving over to hold Noah up with an arm around the waist. Noah leaned on him gratefully.

"Coup. Major bruising on the back. When he came in, he wasn't breathing well, so we took an x-ray and found the remnants of four posteriorly fractured ribs," the nurse replied quietly.

"I hit the back wall when it exploded," Noah explained, shifting so his slightly-less painful head laid on Chris's shoulder. "My ears rang. I saw stars…"

The nurse held out a hand, as if she were trying to steady him from across the room. "Take it easy, okay? No school. It's closed for the rest of the week anyway. Bedrest, fluids, and a lot of it." She smiled again, eventually turning to look at Chris. "Can I see you outside for a moment?"

"Uh…sure." He tried to sit his nephew down, but when he adamantly refused, he leaned Noah against Stiles and then left the room. His new source of support awkwardly wrapped an arm around his waist.

Derek watched his shaking legs, amusement dancing in his eyes. "You really should be sitting."

"I _should_ be a king who lives in a chocolate castle. But alls not right in the world, now is it?"

"A chocolate castle?" Stiles glanced down at him with a raised eyebrow.

"A chocolate castle."

"Is it Hershey?"

"No. It's Milka. Screw your American chocolate. It's all about European."

Noah chuckled, whereas Stiles only smiled and blew a little more air out of his nose than usual. He found his eyes drifting to the other side of the room to Scott's bed. A sigh blew from his nose. Allison had wriggled under all of the wires to lie beside Scott on his bed. She hugged him slightly. Noah half smiled a little bit at the sight and felt around his chest to take a photo when he realized it: his beloved camera was gone, quite possibly blown to smithereens.

"What're you feeling for?" His support peered down at him out of the corner of one eye.

"My…my camera. It's gone," he mumbled. "It must still be in the classroom."

"Sorry about that…"

"It's no big deal. At least we're alive, right?" He didn't want Stiles sinking back into another self loathing pitch. Stiles's eyes alighted upon his shoes as he shifted Noah's head on his shoulder. However, both boys looked up as Derek approached once again.

"I actually think he's just what you need, Stiles."

Two sets of eyebrows raised. "What?"

"The full moon is in two days. Stiles, this'll be your second. Noah, what is this, your first?" A nod. "Exactly. You need a sparring partner to balance each other out so you can fight it out instead of running rampant through the town."

"Wait," Noah blinked, a bit shocked, "you're not teaching us to control this? At all?"

"No time." He strode for the door. "See you in two days." Then he was gone.

There wasn't much time to wallow in his anxiety about the impending full moon before Uncle Chris came back to escort Noah and Allison home. Noah didn't have much fight—or strength, compared to him—in him to stop Stiles from pushing him down into a wheelchair. Chris set his bag in his lap so he wouldn't move.

His nurse laid a hand on Chris's arm. "Chris, I really think you should leave him here," she murmured. "Yeah, he heals fast and all, but he's got a traumatic brain injury."

"Melissa, someone is bound to notice shortly that he has no medical records. I would leave him here if I could, but I can't run the risk. And when people come asking, they'll have to call home. Do you know why Noah is here? It's because his family is overrun with hunters as an Argent family should be. Only my brother is no where near as morally sound as I am and would kill his own son without thinking about it if it meant one less lycanthrope in the world. The last thing any of us need…the last thing _Beacon Hills_ needs is Marcos Argent in town."

The nurse, whom Noah now knew as Melissa, looked as if she wanted to say more, but a glance into the room of her comatose son extinguished whatever argument remained in her. "Call me if he takes a turn for the worst."

"He won't, but you know I will if he does." He leaned back in the doorway and called out, "Allison, let's go."

She wriggled from under the wires with a sad sigh and crossed the room to hug Melissa. "I'll be in to check on him tomorrow, Ms. McCall."

She hugged back fleetingly, looking as if the past couple of hours had aged her ten years.

Chris squeezed her shoulder as well. "He'll power through this and you know it. Don't worry."

"Well thank you, Christopher. But that doesn't stop a mother from worrying about her supernatural son." She sighed quietly and headed back down the hallway.

He frowned in sympathy and rolled Noah away, Allison following.

In the car, Noah had laid his head on the window and remained silent. He tried to stay as still as possible, even though a lot of his pain had subsided. At the moment, he desired sleep more than anything. Once, he looked at his phone (which Uncle Chris had ripped the SIM card and _tracking chip_ his borderline psychotic father put in without his knowledge out of before placing in a new one) and noticed a pileup of missed calls and frantic text messages asking where he was. He'd only had Allison and Uncle Chris's number when he started the day, but further inspection revealed Scott, Derek, Ms. McCall, Lydia, a "Dr. Deaton" and…Stiles.

"How in the hell…" He checked his inbox only to find a text message at the top of the box from the pyrotechnic himself. With a smirk, he tapped it and skimmed his eyes over the text, which read, **Sorry for taking your phone while you were out cold. Well, actually, I'm not, because I might've just saved your life. Trust me, you can't survive in this town without these numbers.**

Noah texted back, **You really should stop saying sorry.**

**When I become king of a chocolate castle.**

Noah smiled.

* * *

Over the next few days, Noah didn't leave his bed to do much else other than pee, bathe, or get a glass of water from the kitchen sink. Sometimes he ransacked the pantry when no one was looking. He was just insatiably _hungry_ and he didn't know why. "Whatsicoup. Bedrest. Shouldn't move much," he'd said, when in reality he hadn't felt like moving. Or doing dishes. He was staring out the window when the doorbell rang downstairs.

"You found it?" he heard Allison say incredulously.

"Yeah. The lens is cracked though." Stiles? Noah sat up almost immediately. Why would he be here? The unfamiliar pattern of thumping up the stairs told him Stiles was coming, so before he even had a chance to knock, he called out, "Come in."

There was a short pause, as if he was surprised, but the door creaked open nonetheless. There stood Stiles Stilinski, looking nervous as hell for some reason, holding his camera and biting his lip. "I, erm, found your camera." He leaned over to set it on Noah's desk. "My dad let me look in the rubble for it. But that's not the only reason I'm here. Tonight is the full moon."

Noah grumbled and rolled over to push his face into a pillow. "But it's ridiculously warm here and it'll be cold out tonight," he complained. "Am I to come with you?"

Stiles nodded a bit. "Derek said it was best. I'll wait downstairs—"

"No, no, let's go. I'm ready now," he sighed melodramatically, pulling himself out of his incredibly tempting bed. Noah noted the color appear in Stiles's cheeks before he looked away and called out, "What?" Then he caught his own reflection in the floor length mirror. "Oh. Well I guess I should put on pants, then."


	5. Chapter 5

"…So."

"Yeah?"

"Spiderman boxers."

"Shut the hell up!" Stiles threw his head back in laughter while Noah's cheeks burned. "I really do hate you."

"No, you really don't. Not just yet, at least." He snickered to himself and turned the corner into a dark alley. Grimy water splashed up the sides of the Jeep as he inched along slowly, trying not to scrape the sides but allow enough space to get out. The sun had sunk. Shadows danced on the wall to the right of them. Stiles set the Jeep in park and pulled out his keys. "Come on. It's up this way."

Noah slipped out of the car and followed him cautiously while attempting to avoid dark puddles of death. "I'm surprised you actually know where this is."

"What? Derek's loft?" Stiles held open the door. "Well, I mean, yeah. Why wouldn't I?"

"He seems like a very secretive person. Like Batman or the Arrow or something." He squinted for a moment, but his eyes adjusted quickly to the low light, allowing him near perfect vision.

"God, I hate this corridor. I can never see anything…" Stiles groped along the wall for a minute before his hands closed around an old fashioned lever. A lot of screeching and mechanical clanking later, a lift roared to life. He pulled back the fenced metal doors. "We have to ride it, unfortunately."

Noah swallowed and stepped onto the screaming metal death trap. "So long as you're sure I won't die before I get up there."

He shut the doors and hit a button. "We could've taken the stairs too." But the lift had already begun to ascend into darkness.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"For assuming I would rather ride this 1950s scene out of a horror movie instead of taking the stairs."

Derek's desolate facial expression greeted then as the doors opened. It was a loft, just like Noah had expected, but it didn't feel at all like a home. One side was covered in tall, almost floor-to-ceiling windows, and the rest of the large room was the same dark metal. The corner did have a couch and a rug, but other than that, it was devoid of all other furniture. The exception was a desk facing the windows, and behind that was a shallow square in the ground, large enough to be used for their fighting ring. It was only three short steps down. In the opposite, furthermost corner, Noah noted a spiral staircase, probably leading up to Derek's bedroom. He suddenly found himself wondering if Derek ever slept; brooding seemed to be a full time job.

"You look green," he bluntly remarked.

"I'll be fine." He waved him off. "Side effect of riding in a death trap."

He rolled his eyes. "Come into the center." He stepped down into the ring (which was actually a square but that isn't the point) and then went up again to lean against his desk.

Both boys stepped off, but Stiles's foot caught on the edge. After that, everything happened in a matter of seconds; Stiles started to go down, but he swiped Noah's hood in an attempt to balance. He did nothing but drag Noah down with him, and together, they both tumbled down the short three stairs and rolled to a stop at the edge of their soon to be battleground. Much to Noah's embarrassment, Stiles wound up sprawled on top of him. Their eyes locked, swirling with indecipherable thoughts, before Derek's annoyed voice rang out, "_Could you try not to kill eachother _before_ the moon comes out?_"

Stiles rolled off while Noah muttered, "Thanks, man. Thank you very much." He had regained control of his body before the blood could start rushing south.

He stuck a hand down with a cheeky grin. "Sorry."

"I hate you." Noah rolled his eyes and grabbed it. For about three seconds, he reveled in how warm and soft it was in his own hand, but as soon as he was balanced he dropped it. He adjusted his hoodie and brushed himself off.

"The moon, children." Derek muttered, cracking his neck from side to side. He set his hands on the desk on either side of him and watched.

Just as Derek's frigid gaze alighted upon the two of them, Noah felt an odd prickling sensation that he rapidly decided he did not like. His senses were thrown into hyperdrive. Everything hurt. Especially his mouth…oh, his mouth…his fingers as well… He could feel every last inch of his resolve slipping away from his mind into a towering blackness. He could see his hands against the concrete floor, clawed and hairy. He was coherent enough to wonder when he had dropped back to the floor before a searing pain ran up his side. The air left his lungs in a loud _whoosh_ before he keeled over onto one side. _What the hell?_

Stiles towered over Noah's crumpled body, growling. He reached down to yank him up by the shirt, flinging him into the stairs without so much as a grunt.

Noah rolled over and managed to stop himself from colliding with the steps. He perched on all fours and roared back at him before racing back to club him in the stomach. Stiles's clawed hand caught the side of Noah's head, and for a fleeting moment, he saw stars. Stiles then threw him back again, this time into a support beam.

Adrenaline poured into Noah's veins. His pulse raced. He had tunnel vision. Rage began to swirl in his stomach as he watched Stiles rush him again; Noah dodged to the side and sent a blow to the side of his head. The deep growl that resonated signaled that he'd hit his mark.

But Stiles paused.

And it went downhill from there.

With a violent growl, Noah slammed his foot into the back of Stiles's knee, sending him crumpling to the floor. He swung his foot once, twice, three times, four times, and then ducked down to throw punches at his cowering body. He was vaguely aware of someone calling his name in the distance as he threw blow after blow, oblivious to it. So many emotions were running through Noah's head; anger, fear, ferocity, revenge. He saw red. He hated him. God, he hated him _so fucking much_ and it felt _so good _to get revenge on this bastard. He'd ruined his life, made it a living hell, made him afraid of who he was…

Strong hands wrapped around Noah's arms and suddenly he felt himself sailing through the air again, only to collide with the ground about four feet away. It had been Derek, crouched over Stiles's unmoving body. But that didn't matter to Noah. He pulled himself back onto his feet, growling. He felt red, tasted it, saw it, wrapped himself in it. The rage engulfed him, white hot, pulsing through his veins. He was angry at _everything_, but none moreso than his father.

He roared, but Derek's dwarfed his by comparison. It made some of the animosity leech out of Noah, enough to see the damage he'd done. His claws and fur had vanished. He saw Stiles across the room, still, bleeding from his mouth and nose. And all Noah was left with was a hollow feeling of despair. So he began to shake, now consumed by another emotion—fear. All he could think was, _I did that?_

And then Noah was out the door. He flung himself down the stairs, scared. So very scared. Pained, mortified, terrified. He felt as if the world were closing in on him. This was worse than panicking. This was borderline panic attack. Noah launched himself down the middle of the street, trying to find his way home and hold in screams at the same time.

His inner demons were back.

He could hide them no longer.


	6. Chapter 6

He was lost.

Not in the simple way, as in not knowing how to get where you're going. No, Noah was lost in his own mind, a mind palace that had so readily betrayed him. He stumbled through the fallen leaves of Beacon Hills Preserve and soon found himself face first in the brown leaves. A gust of wind sent a chill down his spine as he pulled himself up to lean against the strong, thick trunk of some tree whose name he wouldn't even bother to try and remember. As he stared into the dark sky to watch the clouds meander by, he realized just how positively _fucked up_ he really was.

Noah found himself clicking on an old journal app he'd downloaded ages ago. Mama had forced him to one day because she was worried about his mental health. "It'll help one day," she had said. "Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but when you want to talk and no one is around to listen to you baby, it'll be there." Her voice had been quiet, resembling the sound of chiming little Christmas bells. Mama worried a lot. For good reason, too. Mama… She would be worried sick. She'd always had a fear of Noah offing himself, and it wasn't entirely unjustified.

_I've always been a very interpersonal person, I like to think. Or maybe I've become adept at shoving things into a dark closet and guarding them with my life._

He unconsciously rubbed at a scar on the back of his head, just where his hairline ended. One.

_But as I sit here and type away at this useless fucking journal app, I realized something incredibly important—I never actually dealt with my problems, did I?_

_The first of which was Mystic Falls. There has to be no other place I hate more in the world than that damned town. You know how people are like "oh, no, I loved my hometown"? They're fucking lying to you. Just like I've been lied to my entire life. God, children are so judgmental of what they don't know. Or maybe they did know, and mom and dad just told them it was horrendously wrong._

_But children don't understand. Hell, my grown ass father didn't even understand._

Noah swallowed, still ghosting his fingers over the scar. He could feel the weight lifting off his shoulders, ounce by ounce, but he still felt like the Hunchback.

_My mother must be so worried._

_But she must also be praying that I'm okay, somewhere other than there. I know she loves me. Mama loves me "more than air, my little duck". I know that while my brothers and maybe my father search for me, she will be pretending to do work, perfectly content with my absence. And it won't be because she's cruel, it will be because she's happy it's not happening. And oh, she knew. She knew every time it happened, because I either wouldn't leave my room or wouldn't stay in the house for the life of me. It should've been in her power to stop it; after all, the ladies were the heads of the Argent families. And she'd tried. She'd tried so hard, so many times, but she could never seem to catch him in the act. And he never stopped._

He touched a second scar that crossed between his shoulder blades, a third coming down from the base of his neck to make a jagged X.

_Avery and Blake had tried to stop him once. They didn't stop him for long, but they did. And it made sense; he certainly loved them better._

A fourth.

_From then on, Dad's little purge ritual carried on, but in secret._

A fifth.

_I always felt so angry; angry at everyone. Angry at Avery, who could've done more as Dad's favorite. Angry at Blake, who could tell it had happened the very same day and did nothing. Angry…angry at Mama…_

As he touched the sixth, a jagged Z in the middle of his back, hot tears began to run down Noah's cheeks. His past had finally caught up to him. He had suffered too much and hidden too much and now it had been projected onto the least deserving person of it in Noah's life. He just felt so…so…

_Shattered._

Was that even the right word? It felt like it. His soul felt like a vase someone had thrown it off its pedestal one too many times until it finally just _shattered_ across the hall floor. And his father was the naughty child who had attempted to sweep it under the rug.

_He is the reason that to this day I'm still so afraid of just being me._

But Noah never realized just how big of an impact his whole ordeal had had on his life.

He couldn't remember how long he laid in the leaves, sniffling quietly or occasionally sobbing, before he fell asleep.

"Hey! I found your jackass!"

Dawn. He could feel the weak gray light on his eyelids. Nothing would appease him more than being alone at this very moment. Or for the rest of eternity. Either would do.

"Don't call him that, Stiles!" Allison snapped. A giant rustle, drop, and shake let him know exactly who'd "woken" him.

"Believe me, I am awake," he grumbled.

"_Where the hell have you been?"_ she bellowed, fuming and relieved at the same time. She wrapped her cousin in a tight, worry filled embrace.

"Lost."

"And you didn't think to call someone?!"

"I was lost long before I came here."

* * *

The cool, unyielding metal of his locker door did nothing to slow down the thoughts racing from Noah's overworked mind. School was _the last_ place he wanted to be at the moment. He didn't feel the full brunt of his emotions at the moment—must've been the full moon that got such a rise out of him—and he was at least thankful for that. But at the moment, he didn't care. He just wanted to find Stiles so he could apologize for kicking _the shit_ out of him.

He was still absently fiddling with the mini cork board in his locker when a hard shove from someone else's shoulder nearly ran his forehead into the door. When he glanced up, thinking his odds couldn't get any worse, they did.

Stiles.

Maybe he'd need a little more than a simple "I'm sorry".

Noah lumbered off to Chemistry. He threw his hood up as he walked, trying to look as uninviting as possible as he slipped inside of the temporary chemistry classroom. The word "Lab" was scribbled on the board. Why so soon? Was this woman hell-bent on killing her entire class?

"Mr. Argent," she called, reaching out to grab his arm. "I think it would be best if you took the seat next to Mr. Stilinski and worked on this packet." She held out a rather thick stack of papers to him.

"But what about the lab?"

Mrs. Aldrin went pale. "Completion of the packet will be a sufficient substitute for the lab grade," she replied quickly. "So don't botch it."

Whatever. He didn't feel like debating the topic at all, so he grabbed the papers and headed to the back corner. He didn't dare look at Stiles as he sat down. Noah quietly laid his head on his arms, listening to the sound of Stiles's pen scratching on paper. The book was open and everything. He'd never taken Stiles as a person who did…well, work.

Or maybe that was his spiteful side talking.

The idea of putting his headphones in had crossed his mind, but he opted not to. He decided he liked the sound of Stiles's voice. The way he muttered in annoyance at the problems he couldn't solve… And they were never really coherent thoughts. Just angry phrases pulled from various TV shows that could be applicable to that very moment. Those few problems made Stiles angry, and Noah could tell. His heart fluctuated when he came across one of those questions. He found himself very jealous of the boy's control over himself. Noah wondered vaguely if he could control him like that.

He swallowed. Him_self_. Control him_self_ like that. Er, right?

Noah found himself drawing up a table full of chemical equations and conversions on a blank sheet of paper. He then cleared his throat, and Stiles's minute twitch of the shoulder indicated that he was at least half listening. "I'll tutor you in chem _and_ French if you teach me to be a better…er…Lycan American?" He knew he needed help, and there was no _way_ Derek was going to lift a finger.

Stiles didn't even look up from his paper. "Lunch. We can start with heartbeats since you're so interested in mine."

Noah couldn't tell if his cheeks were burning or void of all color. "Wha—"

"You're not the only one with wolf ears and an eye for body language." He set his pen down and turned to face him. "Teach me."

* * *

As he spun in his locker combination later on in the day, Noah couldn't remember ever being so mortified before in his life. What the hell gave him away? Was it the inevitable empty stare? Or was it his own heartbeat? He wondered suddenly if he could lie on a lie detector if he learned to control it. Hm.

He walked out to the back courtyard for his lunch period, chewing on his bottom lip. It must've been his heartbeat. It couldn't possibly have been anything else. Damn the human race and our stupid subconscious need to sync up…

Noah planted himself underneath a tree at the edge of the courtyard. His pen tapped absently against his lips as he stared down at his Statistics textbook. "But why am I so hot and bothered about this?"

"You know, that's a terrible choice of words."

He nearly broke his pen in half on the spot. "How the hell did you even find me, Stiles?! And don't you have French right now?"

"Not now. After lunch. With you." He took a seat opposite him. Noah could see the full extent of the stress that Scott's injuries was putting on his best friend. He looked worn and sad and it was easy to see it in his face. "Alright, smarticles. What makes a heart race?"

"Emotions."

"Specifically."

"Anger, fear, anxiety…"

"Almost all negative emotions. Lycanthropes, the "politically correct" name for werewolves, feel a heightened sense of everything, not just the senses. We feel everything _big_, if that makes sense, and especially—"

"I'm sorry," Noah blurted, unable to hold it in much longer. "I'm not going to give you the cliché "I don't know what came over me" spiel, because I do know and I feel terrible because I do know and I hear cracks and are you okay because I hope I didn't break anything—"

"—remorse," Stiles finished. "Remorse. Anger. The first step to controlling your heart is listening to it." He smirked. "But I'm sure you have no problems with that.

He had to fight his own heart not to make him blush.

What the hell was happening to him?

* * *

The car ride home was quiet, save for the wondrous croons of one of Noah's favorite bands. Per usual, he was absorbed in thought about things he probably couldn't control, like how damn hungry he was at the moment. He couldn't get over how he'd probably failed his first lesson completely. Maybe he'd ask Derek to teach him. The pale-faced jerk couldn't be much worse than Stiles, could he? Stiles just had this uncanny knack for riding his nerves like no other. All they had successfully done at lunch? Bicker.

"So how was your first day back?"

Noah bit his lip. How _did_ it go? "Fine, I guess. Chemistry teacher gave me a packet to do instead of the lab."

"Well, in Aldrin's defense, you and Stiles did blow up her last classroom."

"Yeah, well, I like labs. And I found my nonparticipation highly upsetting, you know." He laughed for what felt like the first time in forever. "It wasn't even me that did it. We were just talking and talking and Stiles wasn't looking. The idiot was just pouring vial after vial into a beaker without looking for Christ's sake!" _Because he was so absorbed in conversation with you,_ he added quietly to himself. "When I saw all of what he poured in and what he was about to do, I shouted, and it still went boom. So no _way_ was that explosion my fault." Noah leaned back in his seat with a satisfied smirk.

"Except you were the one distracting him."

"He can multitask. He's a big boy."

"Obviously not."

"Well we know that now, don't we? Shame that a good classroom had to die for the world to realize that Stiles Stilinski is a shitty multitasker."

There were more giggles as Allison stopped at a red light. She had gone quiet for a moment before she chuckled again and asked, "Noah…do you _like_ him?"

He hoped desperately that his cheeks didn't betray him as he snapped back, "No!" a little bit too quickly. "He's a horrid teacher, for one thing. I took away absolutely nothing from that "teaching session". And he's so _somber_ nowadays. Hardly smiles. And he's annoying!"

"So you like him."

"Shut the _fuck_ up."


	7. Chapter 7

**Someone asked when the crossover part starts. A piece of it starts this chapter if you can catch it. Bonus points for anyone who catches it before I mention it. Brownie points to anyone who suspected it before.**

For some reason that night, Noah couldn't draw his eyes from the abstract patterns of whatever ceilings are made out of. They had become more familiar, more like home. He still, however, had trouble sleeping. And he would never tell this to a living soul, but it was probably because he'd forgotten the stuffed panda Avery won him at the state fair when he was five. Spot was its name. Or was it Patch?

_Smack!_

Noah shot up, ramrod straight. His eyes flew to the bedroom window. What was that? _Oh no, what if I shift?_ he thought, worrying himself even more as he crawled through the window. "No, no, no…"

It was a rock. _Ping!_ And then another. _Thwack! _

He exhaled, unaware he'd been holding his breath to begin with. Oh god. Was it his family? If it was Marcos it was all over and that thought almost gave him tachycardia on the spot.

"Noah! I know you're not sleeping!"

"Allison?" He shoved open the window, anxiety now morphing into annoyance. There stood his cousin, bright-eyed and bushy tailed and ready to go at—"Allison, it's _eleven o' clock at night! On a school night!"_

"Just get dressed! We're going bowling!"

"But it's a sch—"

She gave him a look. "Just get dressed. We leave in ten."

* * *

Within the first round, Noah quickly discovered that he was a terrible bowler.

Allison wouldn't stop snickering and neither would Lydia. Lydia surprised him, since he didn't take her for the laughing kind. Or, really, the smiling kind. Unless it was sarcastic.

"Hey…I'm gonna go run and do something, okay?" Noah stood, brushing off his pants. Lydia's "flavor of the month" as Allison had once called him, Aidan, fixed him with an unyielding, suspicious stare. That made him all the more excited to be leaving.

"Be back in a half hour, okay?"

"Done." And he was out the door.

He walked for a while, hood up. Truthfully, Noah hadn't the slightest idea of where he was going. All he knew was that he wanted to leave; that, and he was still _insatiably hungry _and it was _seriously_ beginning to irritate him.

It soon became very apparent what his purpose was as his feet came to a stop outside the glass double doors of Beacon Hills General Hospital. As he stepped inside and surveyed the area, he noted the barren waiting room.

"Visiting hours are over," a very monotone voice muttered from behind the counter. It had come from a nurse with flaming red hair and a bored expression as she stared at the computer screen.

Noah continued to walk, but he changed his course for the front desk instead. The nurse looked up, expecting some bullheaded excuse that she'd heard a million times before. His pupils dilated a little bit. "Really?" he teased. "Can't I go see my friend? He's just in a coma."

Her eyes did the same. "Yes…you can. Go right…ahead." And she sat back down, glassy-eyed and free of resistance.

With a raised eyebrow, Noah continued down the hall. Odd.

The same thing happened when a pair of orderlies attempted to grill him about his presence here when visitor hours were over. "I'm here to see my friend," he had said. And they just…walked away. Noah slipped into Scott's room without another word.

Now this shit was weird.

"Keep away from him," a familiar deep voice rang out.

"Why are you here, Derek?" Noah pivoted on his feet to face the stocky, stoic alpha. "I've done nothing—"

"I'm here because I think you're a liar, Noah." One heavy foot after another brought him forward. "How did it happen, Noah? Your bite." Derek's voice oozed suspicion as he began to circle the boy.

Noah went pale. "I-I can't…I can't remember. The details are fuzzy."

"Mm." Derek came to a stop right in front of his face. He seemed to tower over Noah, even though he was a mere two or so inches taller than him. Noah could feel a deep chill settle into his bones as he watched him shake his head. "You just can't stop lying, can you?"

"I haven't been—"

"A lie of omission is still a lie."

Noah could feel his anxiety level rising again. If he _didn't_ tell Derek, he would keep grilling and he might break down. If he did, he ran the risk of being exiled, if people could even still do that. With a sigh, he balled his shaking fists and mumbled, "Fine." So Derek began to walk off and Noah begrudgingly followed. This was it. This was how it ended, wasn't it? Derek hated liars, he could tell. Oh no…oh no oh no oh no…

The walk took them back to Derek's abandoned loft. As they passed through the sliding front doors, Derek picked up a chair and placed it right in the middle of the square he'd almost beaten Stiles to death in. He moved to lean against the desk.

Noah didn't sit. "You should know that my family wasn't—"

"—hunting a werewolf that night, were they?"

He whipped his head around before his eyes settled on a dark corner, growing fast impatient with his constant interruption. "Who're you?"

"Ignore him." Derek was running out of patience as well. "You sweat. You shake. Your heart rate runs _through the roof _every time someone asks you about that night." He leaned forward a little. "You're a lie because you don't smell like one, either. You're different."

"The night you were bitten," the voice said again, strangely calm.

"I was separated from my family. Someone bit me. Twice. It was pain I had never experienced before in my life…searing, unadulterated _pain_… I'm not ashamed to say I cried." Noah had to reach down to gather his last bit of courage for the few words he had left and said, "Someone put me in a headlock and…and blood. It was blood. Smeared it all inside of my mouth, around my face, trying to get me to swallow it. I can't remember if I swallowed it. I blacked."

Silence.

Noah could swear Derek was paler than usual.

Finally, from the shadows stepped a man. _Just_ a man, he noted from the smell. He was around Derek's height, brown-skinned and bald. His eyes held a sort of tired, calming wisdom. "Are you hungry, Noah?"

"Insatiably," he answered back quickly. "Oh god, it never stops. No matter how much I eat." His pupils dilated wide at the mere mention of it.

"You hear everything," he said calmly. "Right down to the beating of every single heart in your class every single day, huh?"

"Oh yes." Noah nodded rapidly. "Do…do you know what's wrong with me? Who are you? I think maybe I have a _really_ fast metabolism because of the bite, a mutation maybe—"

"You're a hybrid."

Both boys' heads snapped around to stare at the man. "What?" Derek near growled.

"A hybrid. Half werewolf, half vampire." The man narrowed his eyes and tilted his head from side to side, scrutinizing Noah. "I've never seen one before. I didn't think they existed…until about last week."

"Deaton, exactly what does this mean? For all of us?"

Deaton swiveled to face Noah. He found Deaton's voice more soothing than Derek's cold and unwavering one. "You have a few more skills than a normal werewolf does, Noah. These can come in handy, but they make you more unstable. Emotions run high much more often than just the full moon. You cannot tell _anyone_. Not Chris, not Allison, not Scott, not Stiles."

Derek fixed him with a stony glare he was quickly learning to accept before he turned away. "You're a danger."

Well shit.


	8. Chapter 8

Over the next few weeks, Noah felt an outstanding grip of hunger on his entire body. It started to become _extremely_ hard to lay low when all he wanted to do was rip someone's throat out _with his teeth_. Except maybe Stiles…no, _especially_ Stiles. Especially fucking Stiles. His voice rattled in his head every twenty goddamn seconds and he swore he really would if he didn't shut up soon. Noah would've loved to be anywhere else in the world other than sitting in French class listening to Stiles butcher his favorite language in the entire world. What pissed him off even more was that even the Bothering Dennis playing in his ears couldn't block him out. That, or the twenty six other heartbeats in the room. He hadn't even touched his French worksheet, which was highly unlike him. The hunger was doing more than just turning him into a psychotic ticking time bomb; he was losing his drive to learn, as well.

"Comment cava?" Stiles mumbled quietly to himself.

"Oh _my God, _Stiles. And we wonder why the French _absolutely fucking loathe us!"_ Noah snapped. _"Could you butcher the fucking phrase any worse? _You are the _worst_ French speaker, nay, French _murderer_ I have _ever_ had the displeasure of meeting in my life!"

Stiles blinked, taken aback. He watched silently as Noah snatched up his bag rather violently and stormed out the door. For a few moments, it was so quiet a pin could be heard if it were to drop.

"I'm calling the office on him," he heard the teacher mutter as she reached for her referrals, to which Stiles shook his head.

"No. He's had a bad week. Don't make it worse." And he walked out right after him.

* * *

Frigid water ran over Noah's head. He banged his head on the eggshell tile, groaning. His teeth…fangs…his _fangs_ burned so, so badly. It was hard to move. Hard to breathe, even. His chest constricted painfully as he ran his tongue over the prominent teeth. He moved his head slightly; there was a dent in the wall. Noah was only aware of the high pressure water beating his bare skin red. The annoyance diverted from his pain, if only for a little while. His shirt laid in a sopping pile on the floor.

He heard the door swing shut. _Anyone but Stiles,_ he thought with a groan. But his prayers hadn't been answered, and come to think of it, when were they ever? Marcos would've stopped if they were.

"What the hell is wrong with you lately, Noah?" Stiles said, lowering himself onto the floor just outside the scope of the water.

The words spilled out before he could catch them. "I'm hungry," he moaned softly.

His (unrelenting) friend raised an eyebrow. "You've been _hungry_ this _entire_ damn time? Does your family feed you? I'm sure, actually, _certain_ Allison does not let you starve."

Noah smiled a little. "It's not that kind of hunger, Stiles." His back hit the wall and he slid down until he was lying on his side on the shower floor. The tile was cool, offering another hold on himself.

He reached out and pushed Noah's wet hair from his face. His hand lingered slightly before coming back to his side. Stiles murmured, "Tell me. I've got time."

A bout of shivers hit Noah. "Do it again," he whispered. "It takes some of the pain away."

Instead of reaching out again, Stiles climbed into the shower himself. He sat cross-legged at Noah's head before picking it up to lay it in his lap. He then continued softly. Stiles reflected that he hadn't the slightest idea as to why he'd done this, as to take away Noah's pain only ladled it onto him. And he could see why it had been driving him insane all week; it was nearly unbearable. He didn't think Noah knew, or needed to know, about that part.

He sat there silently, struggling to not complain about the immense pain in his mouth, as Noah began to recount the tale of the night he was bitten. Stiles both watched and listened, his hands never leaving Noah's floppy, wet brown locks. He soon harbored a lot of respect for the damaged boy in a matter of minutes. Sometimes he would shout, and others he would fall silent for what felt like hours but Stiles knew was only minutes. Each time, he managed to bring himself back around, control himself. No wonder he was so volatile all the time. Too much was pent up.

"You realize now that you will not be getting rid of me anytime soon, right?" Stiles twisted a lock of hair around his index finger. "You lock yourself and your troubles away but sooner or later you are going to _kill yourself_ and maybe someone else if you keep doing that." The other hand began to rub his bare side in an attempt to calm his racing heart. "All of these unexpressed emotions are coming out in the worst ways possible."

Noah laid there. He'd given up on trying to control his heart rate. But he had to admit it; Stiles was right. "Promise me something."

"Anything." It shocked even Stiles how quickly he responded.

"Promise me…promise me you won't judge me. I won't make you promise not to hate me, because I'm an arse and you're an arse and we will fight like a teacher and student."

"Why would I?"

"Just promise me."

"No, no. I won't judge you. I swear. But we should get out of here, because I can hear people coming."

Noah nodded and moved to stand. The pain wasn't unbearable anymore, but it still wasn't great.

* * *

Odd things began happening around town.

Did Noah notice? Barely, since his life for the past few days was now 50% Stiles and 50% burning mouth and chest pain.

But Stiles did.

"People keep going missing, Noah." He pushed his fingers through the other boy's hair and turned a page in his textbook with the other hand. It was lunchtime, and a little chilly out. The pair were attempting to study under the tree at the edge of the back courtyard they had soon claimed as theirs and only theirs as teenagers tend to do. Noah's head was nestled in Stiles's lap again.

"I've noticed," he murmured back, biting his lip. "What's even more worrying is that some of them are turning back up." He _had_ noticed that.

"Shouldn't that be a good thing?"

"It would be, if they smelled and acted the same as before."

Stiles raised an eyebrow. "Well what do they smell like—"

"Enough about that Stiles, please." Noah had to fight to keep his temper under control. He sat up and turned to give him a look.

"Noah, people could be in a lot of trouble. Dying, even. We have to tell Der—"

"I like you."

He cracked a smile. "And I like you too. But we have bigger fish to fry besides the hormones of two teenage boys and stupid…what the hell is this? Chemistry homework?"

Noah snorted. "Please. The woman will pass us just so we never do another lab in her class again."

"Exactly. Bigger fish to fry." He wrapped an arm around Noah's waist and pulled him into his chest.

Noah smiled. "Well, tonight's a full moon."

"And all the freaks come out at night."

A smirk spread across Noah's face, but it froze before it could finish. He glanced up at Stiles's face. Frozen. Evidently he had smelled it as well. It was a putrid; Noah wanted to hurl. The pungent odor was wafting from the bottom of the hill below, in what looked like the bushes.

"God, it smells like something curled up, died, and rotted," Stiles gagged out. "That smell was _not_ there just now."

"Do you think someone put it there?" Noah's insatiable curiosity began to tickle his brain. So he wriggle out of his… (his what's?) arms and began to crawl down.

"Noah, be caref—"

"I'll be fine! Don't you start that shit with me!" he yelled back teasingly. "It's probably just a dead squirrel…"

Stiles, growing fast impatient, yelled back, "What? What is it?!"

"It's not a squirrel." Noah's voice was flat. Hollow. It was as if ice had gripped his heart.

It was a spine. Rotting flesh was still attached in random places to the bony structure, as if it had been ripped clean out of someone or something's back. Vultures and other scavengers had begun to circle the bushes. But what really sent the chill up Noah's own spine was that the spine had been neatly broken into the shape of an "N".

He prayed that it was a coincidence, but a quote decided to echo throughout his shellshocked mind at that very moment—_You know what we say about coincidences, brother. __**The universe is rarely so lazy.**_

* * *

As much as he loved and adored his cousin, Noah thought better than to tell her about Stiles. The only thing that could possibly be _more_ awkward was liking her comatose ex-boyfriend Scott. ("Is that a fetish? People liking people in comas?" he'd asked Stiles one day. He promptly shoved him over when Stiles did nothing but laugh at his _very_ serious question.) So both Noah and Stiles wholeheartedly agreed to keep whatever this thing they had together a secret.

Sometimes, when Allison wasn't home, Noah would sneak him in through the window and they'd lay up and for hours, whispering about school or following disappearances and obituaries. Since the spine incident, Noah's anxiety had begun to subside. He still avoided people whenever he could, but there was no changing that. Teenagers were terrible.

It was a colder night tonight, as fall had finally begun to roll in. Noah's bedroom window was open. He was sitting on his bed, listening to the distant bustle of Saturday night traffic as he studied for the quarter exam test in French class. He liked to practice by watching himself speak it in the mirror. As stupid as he looked, it did work. But it didn't work nearly as well as it could've because every time he opened his mouth to speak, Noah would hear a deep, rumbling chuckle in his ear and the arms around his waist would shift. "Mr. Stilinski," he grumbled. "I'm not the one failing, and _you_ said listening would help." Noah elbowed him in the ribs. Stiles was sitting behind him, his head laying on Noah's shoulder and his arms wrapped around his waist. He moved his arms so he could run his fingers up his sides.

"I am. I just love how natural you sound."

Noah's heart began to race; he didn't like that feeling _at all._ Too close. And now he was nuzzling his face…shit. "U-uh, I found more articles in the paper." He sprung up and swiped them off the dresser before returning to sit at the edge of the bed, away from Stiles. When he looked up, he made the mistakes of looking in the mirror; Stiles's sad and concerned face stared back at him.

Noah shook his head to clear it. "Erm, two boys and a girl, all cousins, were swiped from a nearby family reu—"

"Noah, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, but listen—"

He didn't. Stiles pulled up Noah's desk chair and sat right in front of him. "Something's wrong, Noah. I know better. Why won't you tell me what?"

"There's nothing there!"

"But there is. Because every time I get just a little closer, you shut me out. And I can't help you if you shut me out." He reached out to squeeze one of his hands. "Talk to me."

Their eyes met for a moment, but Noah broke away first. "If this is about me avoiding your face on my face all the time, I swear I wanna kiss you. But I can't, okay? I just can't."

"No," he murmured. "No. This isn't about a kiss. It's about how you revel in physical attention one moment and the next you shy away like a beaten puppy…" And just like that, pieces began to clatter together in his mind like a puzzle. "Oh."

"Oh what?"

"You've been hurt before."

Noah froze. "How…" Memories started to slap him in the face one after another in rapid fire succession. His eyes squeezed shut as he cringed away, and his mouth opened but no scream came out. Noah clutched his own chest, beginning to break a sweat. He might have a panic attack; it would be the first since he left home. His pale fingers wrapped around the comforter in shame at his lack of progress in repressing those memories…no, repressing those _nightmares._

Stiles cupped his shuddering face in his hands. "Noah, listen—oh stop shaking…please…" He looked awkward trying to comfort him, but he was gonna damn well try. "You're okay with me, okay? You're safe. I swear I would never hurt you. Ever." He lifted up his head a little so he could look Noah right in the eyes. Their gazes intertwined, and soon Noah's shaking had subsided. All that could be heard in the background was the diminishing Saturday night traffic of Beacon Hills nightlife.

Noah laid a hand over one of Stiles's own. "You don't know how much that even means to me."

A grin spread across his face. "It's my turn to promise something, okay? I'll always be here."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Noah's hand drifted from atop Stiles's to his face. "How did you know?"

He huffed a little, revealing the ghost of a smile of pride at his intuitiveness. "Scott's dad was a drunk. Pushed him down the stairs once. He was afraid of his own shadow for a long time."

The troubled boy let out a deep sigh. Stiles must not know the half of it.

A car door slammed. Allison's high giggle drifted up through the window. Then a second voice chimed in; it must've been Lydia. Both boys' heads shot up.

"Time to go!" Stiles raced to swipe up his notes for class and throw them into his backpack.

As he climbed up on the windowsill, Noah whisper yelled, _"Wait!"_

"What? Noah I have to go—" But he didn't get to finish that sentence, because right at that moment, Noah decided to lay his hands right over his cheeks press his lips to his own.

So naturally, Stiles fell out the window of Noah's two story home.

He grinned, almost a little smugly, as he leaned out the window. "Sorry!"

"Oh trust me," Stiles groaned, a rose bush having broken his fall, "it is o-kay."

* * *

The Monday that they returned to school, Stiles's arms were covered in tons of angry red scratches. Noah dipped his head down to kiss a few on his arm apologetically once they were snuggled up in a broom closet down the hall from first period. Neither boy had wanted to attend chemistry today, and they were sure they wouldn't be missed. The two were sitting on the ground, merely enjoying each other's presence. In front of them laid the most recent information Stiles could gather about the disappearances.

Noah wasn't even paying attention anymore; he was absently turning over a coin between his fingers. "I don't even want to be here."

"Where?"

"This broom closet. School. It's all very boring, really."

"You've missed a lot lately, though. What with the concussion incident and whatnot."

"And what exactly are we doing right now exactly, Mr. Stilinski?"

He grinned. "Maybe a spar in the forest? I'm hoping you won't kill me again, maybe."

"I'll try not to. I don't exactly feel like Pandora's Box anymore."

"Well get off my lap, chubs," he chuckled.

Noah rolled his eyes and crawled off. He scooped up all of their papers and put them in his backpack. Together, the two made a brisk walk for Stiles's Jeep while trying to avoid security.

"Maybe if we're lucky, something will come over the police scanner," Stiles muttered as he unlocked the doors. He perked his ears when he heard the familiar static of the radio coming to life as soon as he started the vehicle. In a matter of seconds, Stiles was nearly bursting in excitement. "Noah, I think the Feds are here."

_**Brownie points to whoever can identify that quote.  
**_


	9. Chapter 9

"Agents Queen and Allen," the shorter, stockier FBI agent said. Both agents flashed their badges quickly—maybe a bit _too_ quickly—and put them away.

Sheriff Stilinski raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Why exactly are the Feds here, if you don't mind me asking?"

The conversation faded a little bit from Noah's ears as he repositioned himself in a tree above the scene. He glanced across the clearing to Stiles, who was situated in the tree in front of him and intently focused. Noah's eyes began to wander back to the two Feds in the clearing. At once, he decided he did not like nor trust them. Something was off. And not just because the sun was still rising and the two of them had on sunglasses like complete tools. There was also a rather dramatic height different between the two of them, so much so that Noah decided to nickname Stretch with the 70s hair Moose. The shorter one tended to do all the talking, so he decided upon the name of Squirrel. Sure, they had real names, but that wasn't any fun.

"Over here…this is where we found the body. But this right here is where we found the heart."

A heart? Noah leaned down slightly to try and see. There, at the edge of the clearing, laid a heart with a giant hole taken out of the center. He got a nasty feeling that it was meant to be an _O._

N, and now O. _NO._ Was that meant to spell no? Or was the spree not finished yet?

"Are you thinking werewolf?"

Noah snapped his head to attention. Sheriff Stilinski had left the two to deliberate. It sounded like Squirrel who had spoken.

"It's the only thing that fits right now. Ripped out heart. Though it's weird, because they usually eat that part, don't they?" Moose replied.

"There's a full moon in two days. We'll know tomorrow."

"You mean we'll know in two days, right?"

"_Shotgun shuts his cakehole, Sammy!"_

_**BREAK**_

The car was silent.

All Noah was consciously aware of was Stiles's hand wrapped around his, thumb gently stroking the back of his hand. Both of their hearts beat erratically; not because of each other's presence, but because they were afraid.

"Someone needs to call Derek."

"Someone needs to kill whatever is skinning and abducting people before _they_ skin _us_." He pointed behind them, towards the forest, in reference to Agent Queen and Agent Allen.

"We'll have to lay low full moon night," Noah murmured absently.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "We might demolish our houses first."

Noah smirked and shoved him over. "We need to try."

The next few days proved absolutely unbearable for the two teenagers. The stress was clearly taking a toll on them as well; bags had soon occupied the space underneath their eyes. If Noah was bitchy the day of the shower episode, he had nothing on the ticking time bomb teenager today, trying fervently not to break his tray in half. Stiles physically looked in worse shape than Noah did, as the stress had decided to make him sickly instead of angry. The pair were seated on Noah's bed, eating dinner, as they had opted to stay home today to make life easier on anyone who might possibly have to socialize with them.

"I just want this over with," Noah grumbled, angrily taking a bite out of his macaroni and cheese.

Stiles smirked. "There is no angry way to eat that."

"How about you shut up?" Noah flung his fork back down on his tray and pushed it away. He pushed himself to his feet, drifting over to the window to stare out of it. The sun was setting. "If you want to visit Scott, now's the time. We won't be able to in short of an hour."

"Mm, okay…" In that moment, Stiles became a chipmunk as he shoveled as much food as he possibly could into his mouth. He snatched his keys and headed for the door, Noah falling in step behind him.

The drive, like most of the ones they'd shared together over the past couple of days, was silent. Night's slender fingers soon took hold of the entire sky, and it was black before they could even reach the hospital.

Stiles growled. "We took too long."

"We'll see him tomorrow night then, Stiles. We shouldn't be this close to the hospital right now." He was surprisingly calm for someone who felt like their stomach was eating itself. "Turn around. We're not safe…" He reached out to lay a hand on Stiles's arm. What he _didn't_ expect was Stiles yanking his arm away.

He stopped the Jeep. "No, _I_ am safe. _You_ aren't. Because ever since you showed up here, shit started to hit the fan. _I _am safe because I won't clobber the shit out of my best friend until he is _back_ in the coma from whence he came! I can control myself a whole hell of a lot better than you can, and certainly enough not to kill him in the five minute I'd like to see him for. I am _not_ going to let you stop me from seeing my brother because I'm not sure if you're going to become a homicidal maniac or not!"

All that Noah could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. Whether it was anger or despair rushing through his veins at that moment, he couldn't tell. There were no words to be said, no gestures to be made. He opened his mouth once, twice, thrice, but no sound came out. So he pried open the door and jumped out of the car before slamming it behind him. "If that's how you feel." So he set off for the woods, and as he felt the familiar sensation of a closing throat and hot tears threatening to spill down his face, Noah couldn't help but slam his feet into the nearest object…or objects. Newspapers, bottles, cans, whatever Noah could send flying, he did.

He tugged up his hood as he marched along alone, right down the middle of the road. He was in a more deserted part of town, and come to think of it, Derek's loft couldn't have been far from here. But he chose to continue on into the forest behind the deserted industrial side of town, hoping the autumn leaves and clear night would clear his mind. Noah's mouth began to hurt him again, but not agonizingly. Maybe it was just the change.

Soft leaves crunched underfoot as Noah made his way through the reserve. Slowly, piece after piece, he had begun to shift, and he finally dropped onto all fours when he emerged at the edge of a clearing opposite a burnt-out old two-story house.

And that was when he realized he wasn't alone.

_**BREAK**_

Sitting in front of Scott, cross-legged on his hospital bed, Stiles couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. Maybe he'd been too harsh on Noah. Actually, not maybe. He'd _definitely_ been too harsh. He'd made a silent pact to himself not to snap in anticipation for tonight but he'd done it anyway and now he was the bad guy.

"Aww damn it." He rolled off the bed and walked to the corner, pacing for a little while before he finally took out his phone. Noah had been his most recent call, so he just hit redial.

It hadn't even rung twice before the call cut. So he called back, confused. This time, it didn't even ring. It cut straight to the giggling clip of Noah saying he was not able to pick up the phone, and would call you back when he could. He could hear his own voice in the background as well, laughing along to whatever stupidness they'd been doing that afternoon.

But now he began to worry. Why wasn't he answering? Those obviously _very_ fake Federal agents-turned-hunters were on the prowl tonight. It wasn't safe. They didn't know what these particular hunters were even capable of. "Oh God, what have I done…"

"Well I don't know, Stiles. What exactly _have_ you done?"

Stiles swore he would've gotten whiplash had he whirled around any harder. _"Scott!"_

Scott McCall was sitting up in his hospital bed with the same goofy grin on his face that he wore whenever he wasn't confused about something else. He looked completely healthy, and he obviously felt it too as he pulled all of the tubes and wires off of his body. He _wasn't_ prepared for the body slam he received from his best friend, but gratefully hugged back as he reached for his clothes. "How long have I been out?"

"Almost a month, Scott." Stiles smiled. "I can't believe you're finally awake. Maybe it was the full moon."

"Not sure. But really, what did you do."

That snapped him back to reality. "Scott, tonight's a full moon. And I need your help."

_**BREAK**_

Blood pounded in Noah's ears. He'd caught their scent. It was definitely Squirrel that was after him at the moment; he would recognize that "manly" musk anywhere. But he didn't dare underestimate him at the moment, as he was carrying a pistol in one hand and what looked like a tranquilizer gun in the other.

Well _fuck_.

He edged his face around a tree briefly to see where Squirrel had gone, and he was lucky enough to pull his face back with milliseconds to spare as a bullet whizzed past his face. Cover blown. Noah bolted through the forest on all fours (surprisingly that got him places faster) in an attempt to shake him. What he failed to realize was that blundering through the forest like a clumsy idiot does nothing for stealth.

A bullet clipped his shoulder, causing Noah to yelp and sway off balance for a moment before continuing on. He took shelter behind a bush when his shoulder allowed him to run no further, biting down a howl of pain. That hadn't been any ordinary bullet, that was for sure. It fucking _hurt_, and Noah had been shot at enough to know what an actual bullet felt like.

Noah watched in a pain-stricken, silent surprise as Stiles, completely wolfed out, rushed up out of absolutely fucking _nowhere _ and dipped down to grab his legs. Someone surged up behind Noah, out of his range of vision, to dip down and grab his torso. The movement jostled his shoulder, causing him to involuntarily cry out in pain.

Bullets began flying. Stiles and the person carrying his torso whom he could only assume was the miraculously healed Scott booked it out of there. A new kind of bullet started to soar past them, aimed at trees; when they exploded, a bright flash of white momentarily blinded both boys, sometimes sending them in two different directions (which was unfortunate for poor Noah in the middle, who felt like a medieval criminal being stretched in two different directions but wolves instead of horses).

Stiles grunted, and suddenly Noah had hit the ground and rolled into a nearby set of bushes. Noah hadn't been aware Stiles had even hit the ground until Scott was perched in the bush next to him, dead silent. Then he heard the footsteps.

"We missed two, but we caught one." Squirrel poked Stiles with his foot. A deep growl gathered in Noah's chest, but Scott's hand covered it up before they could hear it. "Maybe he'll give up his friends if we "convince" him."

"One step at a time, Dean. Let's get him back to the car first. It's a just a minor paralytic, so it'll wear off soon."

If it was possible, Noah could swear he could hear his heart breaking in his ears. "No…" he whispered. _"No!"_ It took Scott pinning him to the forest floor and both his hands over his mouth to keep Noah silent. He cried out, but it died between Scott's fingers as he watched them carry away his love. His eyes were still open, and though Noah knew Stiles was brave, he could still see the fear in his eyes. And he struggled as hard as he could to spring free and jailbreak him, but Scott simply would not let him go.

They didn't move from that position for a good fifteen minutes. When Scott finally let him go, Noah rolled away and snarled at him. "How could you? How could you sit back and _watch them take him?_ We have to do something! We can't just let them sit there and fucking torture him about what's killing people in Beacon Hills, because this might come as a shocker to you, but _we don't know."_ He shoved Scott's hand away when he reached out to touch the injury. "Don't you touch me god damn it or I _swear_ I will rip your throat out."

"Noah, you need to calm down—"

"Like hell I do!" He hadn't even noticed the voice had changed. "We have to go get—"

"Noah, _you need to calm down!"_ the voice snapped again. Derek.

Noah narrowed his eyes as he pivoted on his heels to face him. "And let me guess. You stood by to watch the entire thing happen?"

"No, the flashing gunfight was actually louder than you think. I don't think the Sheriff is on his way, but he won't be pleased to find out that his son is not with you two. So let's go. And Scott, look for any bullets on the ground on the way out if you want your only source of information to live."

Noah broke a sweat. "God, I need to lie down… Just, please. Let's leave before I do something extremely rash with a bad shoulder."

All the way out of the forest and up to Derek's loft, Noah walked between Scott and Derek at all times. To put it lightly, Scott had called him a "flight risk". He didn't give a damn about that right now, honestly. He was stressed out and furious and worried beyond all belief, all at once. The searing pain didn't add to his plight any more either. To top all of that off that, Noah was still _bitterly fucking hungry._ And feeling hungry was starting to get _real_ old.

Up in Derek's loft, Derek set himself onto the task of dissecting the bullet Scott had retrieved. A weird looking black powder spilled out, which he promptly set on fire and then _stuffed into the bullet hole._

He didn't think he'd ever experienced a worse pain in his life.

Oh, but he had, just a mere thirty minutes earlier. And now he was determined to get Stiles back. As soon as Noah was done writhing on the ground in agony, he pulled himself into a standing position. "Well, Scott. What do you want to know?"

"Everything that happened while I was out."

"Things _do_ get a little gay, you know. Maybe you might not want to know _everything_."


	10. Chapter 10

If felt like a gnome was playing the drums on the inside of Stiles's skull. He groaned, trying to dispel a widespread stiffness in his entire body. _Paralytics are terrible,_ he thought groggily, smacking his lips.

_Wait. A paralytic?!_ He suddenly snapped back to reality. He'd been paralyzed, and then possibly knocked out. How long had it been since that night? Where was Scott? Noah? Oh, Noah… He'd been shot and all he could do to help was fall on his face and get captured. _Let him be okay,_ he hoped to himself, _if nothing else, let him be okay._

Stiles was trussed up to a chair in the corner of the room, facing the wall. It was all beginning to come back to him; before he was knocked out, he'd seen where he was driving towards. It was in the deserted side of town, the abandoned industrial area. No one would hear him out here if he howled for help…

_Except maybe Derek._

"Well what do you know. Sunshine's awake, Sam." Agent Queen—Dean—pulled his chair around so that he sat at the metal table in front of him. Dean planted himself in the chair opposite him, and Sam in the chair adjacent to Dean.

"I'm assuming you know why you're here." Sam cleared his throat and sat up to lay his interlocked fingers on the table.

"Are you recruiting me for a modeling agency?" He raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. "I _knew_ I looked good enough for that. Just won five bucks."

"Cut the crap, kid. What are you?" Dean snapped, fuse beginning to run short already.

He shrugged. "I mean, you asked. I think there's a little gay in me. Or a lot. But I still like girls, I swear! So what does that make me? A bisexual?"

"Quit it with the stupid answers."

Stiles's voice ran cold. "When you quit it with the stupid questions."

Dean balled his fists, looking as if he might throw a punch at any second. Sam, on the other hand, shook his head. "Not in the interrogation room, Dean."

"Funny how I caught you in the shoulder last night, but there's no shoulder wound." He leaned back in his seat, trying to calm down. He contained a smirk of rejoice when he realized an important piece of information. "It was a wolfsbane bullet. You should be halfway to death by now, if not already."

"You son of a _bitch,"_ he snarled. Stiles's heart raced. _Noah._

"There's more than one of you out there, then," Sam mumbled. "There's no wound because you didn't hit _him_, Dean."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious. You," he turned his attention back to Stiles, "where is your pack?"

"What pack?" He cocked his head to the side in mock confusion.

"I'm gonna kick the crap out of this kid." Dean shoved himself back from the table and got up to pace. About four seconds later, his fists slammed onto the table. _"Where is your pack?"_

"We're not the ones you're looking for," Stiles snapped.

"Well guess what? Every frickin' werewolf is the werewolf we're looking for. And just because I happened to unload one wolfsbane bullet into one of them doesn't mean I don't have plenty of them left over for you, kid."

Sam glanced up. "Leave him alone, Dean. Find the cripple, find the pack."

Stiles's eyes flashed a dangerous amber. "Touch him and I'll rip both of your fucking throats out with my _teeth_. He has enough _shit_ to deal with without meeting the homicidal versions of Rocky and Bullwinkle!"

The door to the small holding cell Stiles was being held in shut. Anger bubbled in his chest. _"You'll have the Argents on your ass if you even touch them!"_

Both brothers' eyebrows raised. "The Argents?" Dean asked. "Who the hell are the Argents?"

Sam was collapsed in the beaten down old couch in the warehouse they had decided to squat in for the time being. "Probably one of the most dangerous hunting families in the country."

"Hunting _families?_ Well then why haven't _I _heard of them? No offense Sammy, but I've been in this business longer than you."

"The Argents _only_ hunt werewolves. And they're scary efficient too. They never retire, but then again, who can? Their entire family line has been trained in this, and the wives usually lead the family. Last time I heard, Marcos and Christopher were the only two alive; their sister Kate died."

"Which one are we dealing with, then?" The top to Dean's beer bottle flew off and smacked Sam in the nose.

Grumbling, he flicked it away. "Beacon Hills, so Christopher. The more _liberal_ one, I hear."

"Too liberal for me. If he _knows_ he's got a werewolf problem, why is he harboring the monsters instead of exterminating 'em?" He took a swig, then snatched the keys off the table. "I think we should pay Argent a visit, then go find this wounded soldier." As he made for the door, Sam tailing him, Dean found himself squeezing the neck of his bottle harder than usual. The incessant noise of Stiles slamming himself against the wall was really starting to piss him off. "Will you shut up?" he yelled over his shoulder.

"_Have fun dealing with my father, the SHERIFF!"_

Dean threw his beer bottle in the trash. "Crap."

* * *

Despite their attempts at making it seem so, Noah and Scott were _not_ having a normal day.

Scott was at the front desk, trying to keep a handle on things out there, while Deaton was inside trying to tend to patients and subdue the manic-depressive mess in his closet. It proved an interesting task. Noah would often knock his head against the door, crying about Stiles, only to bounce to randomly slamming his fists into the wall and yelling about the pain in his mouth. He would then bitch and moan about how he was _starving_ and soon, oddly enough, fall silent. That silence lasted anywhere between two to even twenty minutes before the cycle repeated itself.

At break time, Scott flipped the sign on the door to CLOSED and begrudgingly headed back to the exam room, hoping that his ears wouldn't be assaulted too badly. "Deaton, tell me he's not usually this bad."

"Surprisingly no." He reached for some gauze to continue wrapping an injured puppy that had come in earlier. "He's just hungry."

"We fed him like an hour ago and he's _still_ moaning about food?"

"It's not that kind of hungry." Deaton leaned down to clip the length he needed. "Did you flip the sign around?"

"Yeah."

"Take him out."

"Are you sure—"

"He'll be fine, Scott." He nodded in encouragement and lifted the pup into his arms. "He's not feral. Unstable, but not feral." That being said, he headed through the door to his left that lead to the dog kennels.

Reluctantly, Scott walked over to unlock the door.

The door burst open without Scott needing to do anymore. There stood Noah, twitching like a cokehead, squinting. "God, the light hurts," he mumbled, stepping back. "Too much too fast…"

Scott held out his hands cautiously. "Just take it easy. We've all had a really long night, and that wolfsbane is doing funny things to you right now." A frantic glance around revealed a rolling chair that he swiftly pushed to Noah. "Sit. Gather your bearings first, okay?"

_Ding._

"What?" His head whipped around, followed promptly by Noah's. "The office is closed… No one should be in here."

"Hello?" someone drawled in a thick British accent. "I've lost a little something."

Deaton emerged from the back room, looking just as confused as both teenagers felt. "I thought you told me you closed up?"

"But I did!"

One heavy foot in front of the other. Noah could swear he heard _everyone's heartbeats, _including his own in his throat. Those agents had rubbed him the wrong way, but nothing like this mystery person was. His voice alone sent chills down his spine.

"Ah." The heavy footfalls finally lead the mystery to the examination room. He surveyed the room with an empty, cold stare, but smiled a little bit anyway. "A bit cold in here, don't you think?"

No one dared to speak.

"Hm. Not very sociable, are we? Oh well. I've got what I came for." He pivoted on his heels to face Noah, malcontent dancing in his dark eyes. He had the looks of a modern day male Sleeping Beauty; hair the color of sunshine gold and lips as red as a rose. "Noah, I think you've been ignoring my calls."

And suddenly, it hit him like a brick.

"I know you," Noah managed to shake out. "You…they…they tried to—"

"Kill me? Yes. It's evident they failed. Quite incompetent they are at planning assassinations." He stepped forward, and suddenly Noah realized he was being flanked on either side by two grunts. Unfortunately, both of them happened to be bigger than him. "My name is Klaus, Noah. I've come to claim you."

Now Noah spoke. "Claim me? What am I, buried treasure? What if I don't want to go with you?"

The two grunts moved to grab both of his arms. "If I'm not mistaken, you've never fed before, have you?" Before Noah could even totally register it, Klaus had a blood bag between his hands. "Your mouth must hurt and you must be famished. Do you know what this is?"

"That is absolutely absurd. There is no way I've been craving—"

Klaus spun off the top. The cap flew off somewhere, and the precious hemoglobin began to drip to the ground. Slowly. _Agonizingly_ slowly. _Drip. Drip. Drip._

In under five seconds, fangs had sprouted from Noah's gums. His pupils dilated in anticipation as he fought underneath the two (he guessed hybrids) holding him down. The smell was intoxicating. Noah didn't give a _damn_ how wrong it was; all he knew was that he wanted that blood bag and he wanted it _right fucking now_ before he tore someone's throat out.

A grin stretched across his face. "That's right. And you said you weren't hungry for _this_." He barely had to hold the bag up to his lips before Noah had latched on, draining the entire thing as quickly as he possibly could. Hiding his amusement at Noah's blood first feeding face was borderline impossible.

"Now I'm going to make you a deal, mate. You see, a lot of my hybrids have been going wrong lately. I need you to join the ranks." Klaus couldn't help but give his shoulder a playful shove. "So I'm going to give you three days to think this over. And if you choose the answer I _don't_ want to hear… Well, let's just say things will start to get _interesting_ around here." A smile stretched across his lips again. "Who's that lad you're always snuggling up to? What's his name…er, Stiles?"

Something in Noah snapped. "Don't you touch him!"

Klaus grinned. "Like I said, mate. Three days. And for every day that you delay my answer, things are going to get messier and messier for you." He swiped his fist playfully at Noah's still-sore shoulder. "Remember those animal spines and ejected hearts? Oh, I can spell you entire name. And even BHPD isn't dumb enough to miss that one." He took a step back and motioned to his two accomplices. "Let him go." As they returned to Klaus's sides and he moved for the door, Klaus called back, "If you value your life as it is, Noah, you'll make a decision. And you'll make one fast." A couple of heavy footsteps later, he was gone.

Deaton stared on, an odd mix of intrigue and worry dancing on his features. Scott was nowhere to be seen. "I sent him into the dog room," he replied to Noah's unspoken question. "The last thing we need is another potential candidate for the hybrid program. And you're a secret right now, remember?"

Noah swallowed. "Y-yeah. Uh…" His tongue struggled to reach as far down as possible for any left over precious plasma. "I need to make a phone call. Do you have a clinic or a cell phone or anything?"

He threw a rag at his face and pointed to the wall. Noah nodded in gratitude, wiping his face as he approached the cream colored appliance hanging from the wall. He held his breath as the phone rang.

"Hello?" a gruff, baffled voice answered. "Jer, hang on a second before you hurt yourself!" the man shouted behind him. "Right, sorry, who is this?"

"Alaric?" Noah answered quietly.

The voice immediately perked up. "_Noah? _Where are you? What's happening? Your parents are _off the rails_ searching for you!"

"Never mind that. I'm fine, but I won't be for much longer." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Alaric, how do you kill an original?"


End file.
